


there was only one tent

by marblecranes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Tags Are Hard, no beta we die like men, working title: sylvains an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marblecranes/pseuds/marblecranes
Summary: There are some things that war can't take away, after all.(Alternatively: the "there was only one bed" trope, but with a slight change.)





	there was only one tent

War.

The word tastes bitter in Felix’s mouth like thick smog, held steadfast to the tip of his tongue but never rolling off. It’s something he’s come to despise but faces in his everyday life, manifesting in a climbing kill count, bodies that never seem to stop piling, and a sword caked in blood that he’s given up on cleaning. He traverses across the battlefield silent as night, runs his blade through every suit of armor he doesn’t recognize. His motions become cleaner with every battle, but the bags beneath his eyes get heavier, his sleep gets lighter, and now when Felix takes a rare glimpse into a mirror, he starts to see the boar staring back. 

The battlefield is gruesome and raucous, incoherent shouting punctuated by the sound of clashing metal. He learns to tune out the background noise, to listen only for incoming enemy footsteps. Felix learns to dispatch his enemies with brutal efficiency, cleaving down one after the next and never giving himself a chance to catch a break. And sometimes, someone gets a lucky shot in, he’s bleeding from a few gashes, the healers fix him up, and he goes right back in.

That’s the life he grows accustomed to. One enemy after the next, downed one by one like a madman knocking back shots. Then, when the day’s over and the battle’s done, he retreats back to camp to do it all over again the next morning, all in the name of “honor” just as his brother had done.

_ Father would be proud _ , he thinks to himself resentfully one night, pulling open the flap to his personal tent after a relatively unsatisfying dinner. It’s a small space, but more than enough to survive on. He’s sure some of the newer troops are far less cozier in their thin, dirty sheets sleeping outside with little else to shield them from the night. He unfolds himself over a sleeping bag, letting his head hit the ground with a sigh. 

His eyelids, barely holding open, finally slide shut.

Peace at last.

Just as he feels himself dozing off, Felix’s eyes snap open at the sensation of the tent around him violently shaking. He jolts upwards, hands fumbling for the nearest weapon at hand. No one had been expecting an enemy attack, and certainly not at this hour.

And then a voice all too familiar calls to him from outside, “Hey, Felix, open up!” 

Sylvain Jose Gautier. Of course. He groans and opens up the tent flap, eyes squinted into a glare, “What do you want?”

“Buddy,” Sylvain starts, quite clearly ignoring Felix’s grimace of disgust with his lips pulled back into a wide grin, “Mind sharing that tent of yours with me?”

“Absolutely not,” he fiercely refuses.

“So you don’t mind!”

“You know what I meant.”

“Oh, come on, Felix,” Sylvain laughs, “They forgot to pack a tent for me! Can you believe it?”

“Why don’t you ask to stay with the ladies you’re oh-so fond of?” He responds with more bite than intended. It’s been a long day, and a night of ample sleep is a rare luxury Felix isn’t willing to miss out on for this fool.

“I did, and they said no—” He gestures at himself, “—to  _ this _ !”

“That, I can believe,” he starts pulling the tent flap shut, “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

A hand flies out and holds the tent open, “Please, Felix?”

Felix glances up at Sylvain with a raised eyebrow. He looks over him skeptically, locking gazes for a moment before leaning back with a sigh, arms spread open, “Fine.”

“Thanks,” the knight hums contentedly as he slides into the tent, shutting it behind him. He sits and looks around, mumbles to himself, “Looks like it’s just the two of us. Just like the old days.”

“I’m going to bed, so try not to make any trouble,” Felix grumbles as he puts out his lamp set in the corner of the space. He doesn’t waste any time, immediately climbing into his sleeping bag and settling. 

“You’re no fun.”

“We’re in the middle of a war,” he responds pointedly, “All this and you still can’t get girls out of your head, huh?”

“Hah, you sure got that right.”

He opens his mouth to object, perhaps dole out more “verbal abuse”, as Sylvain loves to call it. Five years—a whole lifetime, really—and nothing between them has ever changed. He supposes that there are something things war can’t take away after all. In the midst of an ever changing conflict, maybe, he starts to think, Sylvain’s the one constant he needs in his life. 

He feels a solid warmth slide in beside him.

Felix doesn’t move a muscle as he asks out loud to the dark, “What are you doing?”

The man beside him barks laughter, “You didn’t expect me to sleep on the dirt now, did you?”

Felix stifles his reaction; ignores his sudden hyperfixation on their proximity and stifles the fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. He lays there, eyes closed and using every ounce of restraint to keep himself from kicking Sylvain out of his tent.

“Wait, do you really?” Sylvain’s words come out surprised, a little too loud and fast ( _ nervous _ even, Felix would think if he didn’t know him any better), “I mean, I guess if you want—”

“No,” Felix interrupts quietly, “This is fine.”

“I see.”

The two fall into silence. Felix can’t remember exactly when they last slept in the same bed, only that it last happened when they were children. He starts to wish that things are still as simple as they had been back then. Back when Sylvain’s smile did little more than irritate him, or when his frequent antics involving women didn’t evoke a burning jealousy in his chest. Even now, years into adulthood, he feels a vague bitterness when Sylvain comes to him complaining about his most recent romantic failure. Truly, some things never do change.

“Felix, you know how I told you I asked all the women nearby and they refused me?”

Speak of the devil. “Yes.”

“I lied.”

“What a useless lie,” he snorts, “What was the point of it?”

“I’ve been thinking about our situation—yeah, I know, shocker.” Sylvain sucks in a breath, and Felix can feel it on the back of his neck. Had they always been that close? “We could die any day now.”

“Glad to see you finally wrapped the concept of war around that thick skull of yours.”

“Felix, I’m being serious,” the older man drops his voice, “You know, I really did think about asking to room with one of the women. But then, I thought, if I died tomorrow, would I want that to be my last night?”

“... Sylvain.”

“If I had to spend my last night with anyone, it wouldn’t be some random girl,” Sylvain says. The “ _ it’d be with you”  _ goes unspoken, but he hears it all the same. 

They lay there breathless, and then Felix asks, “Do you recall the promise we made as kids, Sylvain?”

“Of course. I’m surprised you remember, too.”

“We stick together until we die together,” he recites by heart; spoken from memory just as he’d repeated it to himself over and over all these years. “I’m not ready to die yet, so don’t you dare go off about moving on and all that without me.”

“Without you,” the other echoes.

“No. Not without me,” he affirms. 

A pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him back against Sylvain’s chest. Felix lets him for a split second, even leans into the touch on impulse, heart beating out of his chest as his breath catches in his throat. Then it hits him, and Felix jolts away like he’d touched fire. 

His skin still feels hot where he had been held. He turns around to face Sylvain, ready to give the other a good shove. “What the hell—”

“I love you.” His hands freeze in place.

What.

“What?”

“It’s always been you, Felix.”

Felix stares at him for a while, and then sits up in their sleeping bag with a palm pressed to his forehead; tries to sort out the thoughts jumbling around in his mind. They’d been friends for their whole lives. Surely, Felix isn’t so dense that he’d go all these years without noticing? He sneaks a glance back down at Sylvain, who’s looking up at him with eyes like a deer in headlights.

“What about all those women?” 

Sylvain averts his gaze, “I… I don’t think what I felt for them is really the same.” 

An unexpectedly sincere response. The next questions come out sharp, almost accusatory, “Do you really feel that way?” 

He braces himself, because if he hears a “no”, he has no idea what he would do. Maybe kick Sylvain out of his tent, or kill him a little. Whichever got rid of his mortal embarrassment fastest.

“I just told you. I’ve loved you for the longest time.” Sylvain hides his uneasiness with a rounded smile.

Felix has known him long enough to sense that he’s telling the truth, but there’s that vague feeling of insecurity in his chest that forces him to keep pressing on, “How many people have you said that to?”

“Yours was the only time I was genuine,” a sigh escapes from the redhead’s lips as his smile fades away, 

Felix remains quiet, tries to wipe the dumbstruck look he’s sure he has plastered on his face, but to no avail. His mouth refuses to budge from where it is: dropped open in shock.

“Look, just forget what I said,” Sylvain finally says, sitting up beside him. His voice, which had always been smooth and saccharine, cracks at a few points. “I’m sorry, god, I must sound like a joke,” Sylvain continues talking, shaking his head with a smile on his face that fails to reach his eyes, “Womanizing crest-bearing noble, chasing after girls during the day, pining after his obviously disinterested best friend at night. Hilarious. You must think me to be a fool.”

Half-wit. Idiot. 

Felix still doesn’t believe it. The idea of Sylvain, infamous for being unable to stick with one woman for longer than a day, being in love with him for years? He’d sooner see pigs fly. But even if it isn’t true, even if it’s all probably some crazy practical joke, part of Felix wants to take the chance and run with it anyway. 

“Yeah.” He agrees quietly after regaining his composure, “You are a fool.”

Sylvain looks absolutely heartbroken, but only for a second before Felix suddenly leans in and takes his face into his hands. His eyes go wide, “Felix…?”

Felix honest to god has no idea what he’s doing either. He touches their foreheads together; can feel Sylvain’s cheeks heat up beneath his hands, “You’re an idiot. An absolute buffoon.”

“I—” 

He closes his eyes and presses a kiss to Sylvain’s lips. It’s light and careful, only lasting for a quick second before he pulls away, “Do you get it now?”

Sylvain’s eyes are wide, fingers pressing against his own cheeks where Felix’s hands had been just seconds before. “You kissed me.”

“Yes. I did.”

Shock drains from his expression, replaced by a grin, “I didn’t catch your point the first time, can you do it again?” 

“Are you fucking stupid—”

Sylvain’s on top of him now. He kisses him, only this time, it’s aggressive and hot. Deep, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. Felix falls onto his back, pinned under Sylvain’s weight as he drapes his hands over Sylvain’s shoulders. An involuntary shudder runs through his body when he feels hands in his hair and Sylvain’s tongue dragging across his bottom lip. 

They pull away to breathe. Only, Felix isn’t sure he remembers how to.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years.” 

He swallows thickly, “And what took so long?”

“A lot of things,” He admits, “But I did want to get things off my chest before it was too late. I didn’t want to regret anything.”

“Stop talking like you’re going to die,” Felix snaps. 

Sylvain stares at him for a second and then starts laughing, “You’re right. We’ll survive this war, together.” The man rolls back over, wraps his arms around Felix and pulls him in like he’ll never let go, “I’ve kept you up long enough. Good night.”

“Good night, Sylvain.”

“I love you.”

“I…” Felix hasn’t felt at home in years, not since the war started, but when he’s in Sylvain’s arms, there’s an unfamiliar sense of comfort there. Just how many more nights will they have to themselves like this? “I love you, too.”

Sylvain’s voice breaks the silence that follows, “By the way, Felix.”

“Yeah?”

“There was another lie.” His voice sounds way too nervous to mean anything good, “I had my own tent.”

“I’m going to kill you in the morning.” It’s a promise.

His partner laughs into the nape of his neck, pressing a kiss onto the top of Felix’s head as he teases, “Then I’ll just have to cherish the time I have with you until then, don’t I?”

There are some things that war can’t take away after all.

* * *

Byleth’s right there to intercept Sylvain when he crawls out of Felix’s tent the following morning. Sylvain curses low to himself when he spots the professor, having gotten up about an hour earlier than usual for the sole purpose of remaining unspotted. He tries to stifle his embarrassment, but the redness of his cheeks betray it all, “Hey… Professor.”

She studies him, eyes fixed on the disheveled state of his hair and a few shameless marks on his skin that Sylvain’s clearly unaware of himself. 

“Professor?”

“It was about time,” Byleth says after a while, and then walks away.

Damn it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading to the end! i usually don't write fluff but fe3h ruined my life and i just threw this together because i thought sylvain and felixs support was really cute :')


End file.
